


Oh, There You Are

by paintedvillain (edwardjavadd)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Barista Harry, Basically Harry pining over the Hot Tattooed Guy that is Zayn, Fluff, M/M, Mention of Liam and Sophiam, Misunderstandings, Pining, Shy Harry, University Student Zayn, mild angst?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 06:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4695305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edwardjavadd/pseuds/paintedvillain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working in a cafe always has its perks, like smelling a fresh brew of coffee in the morning, talking to the various customers from all walks of life, and of course, eyeing out Hot Tattooed Guy sitting by the window. And Harry's only looking out for him when he gives him free muffins. Everyone loves free muffins! Especially ones with nice messages on them. </p><p> </p><p>Or a coffeeshop AU where Harry's a barista who has a soft spot for stressed uni kids, or, well, just this certain tattooed one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh, There You Are

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic in this fandom, even though I've actually been in (and out of, lol) this fandom for years. It's funny how the power of ships can prevail over the test of time.
> 
> I'm actually in the process of writing 6 zarry fics which I started long before this one, but I'm the worst at completing anything (funnily enough, this was the last idea that I had out of all the fics I'm writing up!). Definitely watch out for those, but don't actively wait for them because it might take one to five... years (half-joking, not really).
> 
> Anyway, I really hope you enjoy this! Feel free to let me know your thoughts~

_9:05_. He should be here any minute now. Frowning, Harry looks away from the clock on the opposite wall above the entrance, zoning back in on the cappuccino in his hands. Adding in extra icing sugar, of course, Mr. Brennan's always had the sweetest tooth.   
  
"Here you go." Harry smiles, sliding the coffee down the counter top. Mr. Brennan grins back, his missing front tooth even more comical than usual.   
  
"Thank you, Harry, m'boy. Always such a good lad." he leans over to gingerly pat him on the shoulder.   
  
Harry tries not to laugh. "Have a nice day, Mr. Brennan."   
  
"Will do." he winks, making his way into a corner booth.   
  
The bell clinks loudly through the quiet of the café, making Harry look up to the entrance door. Heart clenching, he bites down on his bottom lip to stop his mouth from falling open, because holy moly cannoli, he was not ready to see that.   
  
Hot Tattooed Guy is in a damn singlet. An extremely loose white singlet that shows off not only his gloriously inked arms, but also Harry's personal favourites, the little angel wings and kiss mark, just below his clavicle. The same place Harry's been wanting to place his lips on for over a month now. Harry feels faint. He definitely was not ready for this indecent exposure so early in the morning.   
  
The bloke rubs a hand across his face. Harry notices he's looking much more fatigued than normal. Still gorgeous, of course, but he has distinct dark circles under his eyes, and his wondrous cheekbones look a little sallow. It's one of his many straight-out-of-bed looks that Harry files into his folder of Favourite HTG looks, but then again, all the looks are his favourite.   
  
Looking up, his eyes follow up to the chalkboard menu, completely bypassing Harry much to his utter relief. Before his presence is acknowledged, Harry scrambles to the back room, heart pounding erratically.   
  
"Is he here then?"   
  
Harry's hand shoots to chest, clutching at it in shock. "Would you stop popping out of nowhere?" he hisses, glaring ineffectively at the crouched figure.   
  
"Would you stop making goo-goo eyes, and ever take his order?" Louis innocently blinks once he's standing upright and facing Harry.   
  
He opens his mouth to retort, but clamps it shut opting instead to glare again as Louis breezes past. Not because his question was necessarily untrue per se, but more of the fact that it's completely true. Well, not 100% completely. Harry had taken his order once - the very first time he had come to the shop nearly two months ago.   
  
The lad had been wearing a grey "OBEY" beanie with black aviator sunglasses, and a red scarf wrapped around the bottom half of his face. Clad in a black hoodie, and long grey shorts, a batman bag slung low across his chest. Harry had nearly laughed right into the stranger's face. It wasn't even that cold or sunny out. The contrast of his entire ensemble was baffling.   
  
"Good morning," Harry had grinned, watching him step forward, head tilting up towards the menu behind him. Even with his face covered up, Harry could sense that he was attractive, but he hadn't known just how much until it was too late.   
  
He hears the kind lilt in Louis's voice when he asks, "And what would you be having today?"   
  
Harry doesn't dare peek outside. He shifts closer to the shelf of the Brazilian coffee beans Olivia had recently stocked.   
  
"The usual, and with milk, thanks. Wait, no. Um.. actually, straight black. I need to wake up."  
  
He hears Louis chuckle, and Harry chuckles too. The bloke has always been amusing to him, but, then again, Harry's biased.   
  
"Okay, one warm cinnabon and a medium black coming your way."   
  
Harry smiles faintly at the order. It's exactly the same as it was before.   
  
"Is your meat halal?" he had asked Harry, pulling down his red scarf.   
  
Harry had felt his grin slip off his face. Was their meat halal? Olivia wasn't coming in that day, and he couldn't lie to the bloke even if he wanted to. But would Olivia kill him for losing a customer when they had barely received any as it is?  
  
Panicking at the internal war within him, Harry blurted out, "I'm so sorry, I've only been working here for a few weeks and I'm not really sure." He wasn't even sure what halal even meant.   
  
Harry had looked away from the stranger's face, feeling the piercing stare even behind those dark aviators. He was fiddling with the jars of premade pastries decorating the counter top, when he heard the bloke chuckle.   
  
"It's fine. I think I'll just go for a medium black coffee and a cinnamon bun."  
  
"Cinnabon," Harry had automatically corrected, his eyes instantly widening at his own rudeness. "Sorry, um, it's just easier to say, you know?"   
  
"Cinnabon." he said it like he was testing it out, tasting it in his mouth. Harry gulped at the picture. "Yeah, it does slip off the tongue easier."  
  
Flushed, Harry nodded, pressing in the order.   
  
"So, what's with the name?" He'd asked, handing Harry the money.   
  
With furrowed eyebrows, Harry frowned, confused. Had they not just gone over this? "It's easier? Like, mixing cinnamon and bun, so you get-"  
  
The lad laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, mate, I meant your shop name: 'Banoffee Bay'?"  
  
Harry had lit up immediately at the question, not in the least embarrassed by the second misunderstanding of the day. "It's four of my favourite things!"   
  
The stranger chuckled. "Banoffee pie...?" he trailed off.   
  
"Banoffee pie, bananas, coffee, and puns!" Harry declared, beaming.   
  
He laughed. "You do realise the 'offee' in 'banoffee' is toffee, not coffee, right?"  
  
Harry paled. "Yes, of course I knew that." He didn't.  
  
Another laugh. "Alright, and what about the bay?"   
  
"Well, Olivia, our manager and the owner, grew up in California, hence the 'bay', she's got the fondest memories there and she grew up in Santa Clara. It's the home of California's Great America which is this huge amusement park she used to go to every summer. That's why there's a lot of those staple pieces around the café. She wanted to take a piece of her home here. She's quite patriotic like that. We even had to convince her not to hang an actual American flag outside!" Realising he'd gone off topic, Harry nervously laughed, "Um, yeah, anyway, between you and me, I would've preferred the 'bay' with an 'e'." he winked.   
  
The beautiful man chuckled, and Harry was definitely warming up to the sound of that. "The place is nice. And yeah, an 'e' would have been cool, too."   
  
Harry hadn't had the chance to respond before the stranger waved, grabbing the table number stand from Harry, wandering off to the front left of the café where the wall length windows are.   
  
No one had ever agreed whenever he said that little suggestion about the name change, either rolling their eyes or making an odd face so naturally Harry was smitten. The lad also laughed at his jokes so that was a major bonus in itself.   
  
It wasn't until he'd finally took off his scarf and aviators did Harry feel like he'd died and gone to heaven. No bloody way was that insanely beautiful creature human. With such a chiseled jaw, and a set of finely cut cheekbones, and those eyelashes! Harry was a few good metres away, but there was no denying those thick, dark lashes curling upward. He looked like a supermodel. Some sort of angel. A devastatingly handsome Greek God.   
  
The stranger looked up from setting up his MacBook on the table, smiling with his gums, and adorably crinkly eyes. Harry's heart had jack-hammered at the sight. It still does, if Harry's honest. If he ever happens to catch his eye now, the goofy smile and crinkly eyes would appear, and Harry barely has enough courage to return the favour. Usually he'd merely look away, busying himself with another customer or whatever the hell was in his hands at that time. How could anyone possibly look that attractive anyway? It should be illegal.   
  
"All done, Haz, you can get out from your hole so I can finish inventory."   
  
Harry makes a face, but sheepishly shuffles out from the storage room, Louis's snickering following him out. 

 

 

 

 

It's not as though Harry's a coward or a prude or whatnot, not that there's anything wrong with that, but there's just something about Hot Tattooed Guy that makes Harry either want to freeze and disappear or run as far away from him as possible. Then there's another portion of Harry that just wants to climb him like a tree or suck him off right under the table for everyone to see. Harry has a bit of a problem.   
  
It's nearing noon, and since it's also a Friday, Hot Tattooed guy usually packs up and leaves around this time. Except Harry recognises the absolute concentration lining his face, and knows that he'll probably end up staying for a few more hours. Harry sighs in relief, but also with deep regret, because how can he possibly concentrate now? As if the past few hours weren't stressful enough. It's times like these, when he can focus solely on HTG, that Harry's silently thankful most people tend to head for Starbucks down the road rather than their little hole-in-the-wall. He always feels extremely guilty after thinking that, but his colossal crush on his favourite tattooed lad mostly trumps the feeling.   
  
See, Harry's started this tradition of giving Hot Tattooed Guy a muffin whenever he's looking particularly stressed out which is the majority of the time. But Harry knows, although it's a tad creepy to admit, when he's legitimately stressed out. His dark eyebrows stay in a permanent V shape, and he won't stop biting and chewing down on his lips, hazel eyes concentrated on the screen. Not that Harry has any problem with watching that beautiful spectacle, but it endlessly worries him what the root of the problem might actually be. Is it more than just the workload? Is he worrying about employment? His family? A partner? Harry never tries to dwell on that last thought mainly due to the fact that although he so badly wishes for Hot Tattooed Guy to be Hot Single Tattooed Guy, with a face like that, Harry's got his doubts.   
  
He still can't erase the time when he thought that muscular bloke with the kind, puppy dog eyes was HTG's boyfriend. It still haunts Harry to this day. It was a Thursday afternoon, and HTG always stays till five, it's the latest he'd stay out of all the days he's ever in. Harry had been gearing up to hand him a chocolate chip muffin with a " _Smile!! :) x_ " in white chocolate icing on top.   
  
The thing with Harry is that it usually takes him a few minutes to get his bearings, psych himself up so he can walk over and inconspicuously slide the muffin onto his table before scuttling away. As he had been mentally prepping himself, the entrance door swung open, the bell alerting another customer. Being Harry, customers always come first, so he'd inwardly sighed, placing the plate back down when it dawned on him that the newcomer hadn't actually headed right over to his direction. Oh no, to Harry's horror, he'd gone straight to Hot Tattooed Guy.   
  
With an inaudible gasp, Harry had watched the newcomer - he was sorely tempted to nickname him _Other Not So Hot Not So Tattooed Guy_ \- wrap his arms around HTG and nuzzle his face into his neck for a beat too long in Harry's modest opinion. The pain of watching that punctured his chest like a bullet. Yet he couldn't look away.   
  
Puppy Eyes Muscle Guy sat in front of him meaning his back was to Harry, and although Harry very much appreciated the view of those back muscles, he was not too pleased about the constant smiling Hot Tattooed Guy was doing. Actually, more like, Harry was torn about admiring the sheer joy radiating from him more than any moments he'd seen to date, and overwhelmingly bitter about Muscle Guy being the cause. Suddenly melancholic and completely unmotivated to give the muffin, Harry heaved a sigh, glumly staring at the " _Smile!! :) x_ " on the surface. The smiley face was definitely mocking him.   
  
After a few minutes of sulking, and his heart pulling every time he heard Hot Tattooed Guy laugh at something Muscle Guy said, Harry finally decided he wouldn't give the muffin after all. No, sir. It was disgustingly apparent that HTG was ass over tit in love with Puppy Eyes Muscle Guy and they were totally dating. All the weeks of dreaming and wishing and yearning of being with HTG was merely that - a dream. It was a waste of time. Harry wanted to lie in the back room and never get up. Just as he was seriously contemplating on doing exactly that, the bell rung again and a pretty brunette girl walked in. Harry felt like the entire universe was against him. Nevertheless, he switched on his best winning smile, which immediately turned confused when the girl didn't walk right up to the counter.   
  
"You have got to be kidding me." Harry muttered, seeing her walk to HTG and PEMG. Who was the real partner here? It's not like Harry assumed Hot Tattooed Guy was gay. Of course, in all his fantasies he is, but maybe he was as straight as an arrow, and Harry's never stood a chance.   
  
Before his thoughts begun to spiral even more out of control, the girl gave a small wave to HTG, and kissed Muscle Guy right on the lips. Now all of them were either in some weird open threesome polyamory relationship or HTG was utterly single. Muscle Guy had stood up, briefly squeezed Hot Tattooed Guy's shoulder, and left the cafe with his arm around Brunette Girl's waist. Harry wanted to lie in the back room and never get up, for different reasons.   
  
Suffice to say, HTG had never received a muffin that day, and he'd left late in the afternoon looking more frown-y than usual. Harry felt like a right prat which had obliged him to give two muffins the following day, one of them saying, " _For yesterday xx_ ". The smile that had split Hot Tattooed Guy's face when Harry caught him made the gnawing guilt melt away.   
  
That ever present, hugely familiar focused-frustrated expression is back on his face, and since Harry isn't able to kiss it away anytime soon, he'll settle for giving another one of his motivational muffins instead. He puts the icing on between orders and away from the prying of his co-workers who all acknowledge the not-so-subtle crush Harry has on Hot Tattooed Guy, but they don't have to know about the blatant favouritism. Olivia wouldn't kill him if she found out, but she wouldn't be very pleased either. Technically speaking, Harry does pay for them all out of his own wages, so they're not _free_ free. Staring down at the " _You got this! -H_ ", he wonders whether he should add another exclamation mark and also if he should have a smiley face or 'x' or both..   
  
A groan echoes from HTG's direction and Harry's head flings up to see him with his face in his hands, elbows on the sides of his MacBook. Frowning, he quickly decides to bypass the extra punctuation, and walk over to the table. Before HTG can lift his head up, Harry quietly slides the plate behind the MacBook then half-runs back behind the register. So close. He breathes a sigh of relief then catches Louis's judgemental gaze.   
  
_What?_  Harry mimes. If Louis were in ear shot, Harry would have hissed.   
  
Louis shakes his head, rolling his eyes, before leaning down to grab the empty plates and mugs from one of the booths.   
  
It only takes five minutes until HTG sees the muffin, often it would take at least fifteen. Harry looks out to the windows in HTG's general vicinity, but even from his peripheral the unmistakable smile that breaks his face is there. Harry chances a glance and Hot Tattooed Guy has his muffin in his hot tattooed hands, a fond smile on his beautiful face.   
  
Shyly smug, Harry turns around to grab some more coffee beans from the storage room when Louis grabs the back of his shirt, tugging him to the side door leading outside. He pushes Harry through it, the clang of the door reverberating through the alleyway.   
  
Harry starts. "What-?"  
  
"Tell him."  
  
Bewildered, Harry responds, "Tell who?"   
  
"The lad with the permanent smoulder on his face. Mr. _I'm-too-cool-for-school-yet-I'm-at-this-shoddy-place-and-_ "  
  
"Hey!" Harry interjects defensively. "This café is lovely. A bit oddly decorated and sometimes too American for an English café, but it's wonder-"  
  
Louis groans in frustration, latching his hands onto Harry's shoulders. "No, listen, mate. Tell the bloke you're the one giving all the free muffins."   
  
Harry's jaw drops. "What?! _Why_?" he splutters.   
  
"I think he should know who's his secret admirer."  
  
Of course he wants HTG to know some day.. just not today. Maybe not ever. No one can make him. Not Louis. Not anybody!  
  
"If you don't tell him you're the muffin-giver, I will."  
  
Harry gasps. "You wouldn't!"   
  
"Oh, I would, mate." Louis's irises glint in the afternoon sun. "I'm sick of your pining and lovesick eyes. It's been nearly two months. At first I thought it was hilarious, but now it's just pathetic."   
  
"Lou.." Harry whines, pouting.   
  
"Don't make that face at me, Haz. You're better than this, now go back inside and tell him you're the one behind the muffins and pledge your undying love."  
  
"I'm not in love!" Harry huffs out, his cheeks feeling a tad hot.   
  
Louis laughs. "Oh, but you are, mate."  
  
When they head back inside though, Hot Tattooed Guy is gone, and Harry nearly cheers in victory even if he is disappointed at his abrupt disappearance. He's about to do an actual jig when Louis catches his eye making him stop short. "First thing Monday morning," he smirks, "or I will."   
  
Harry's face falls, and Louis just cackles.   


 

  
  
  
  
By Monday Harry is a jittery mess. He even stuffs up Mr. Brennan's usual order. Thankfully the elderly man is adamant that he actually did order a slice of carrot cake, even if Harry knows he's allergic. He's seen it once and it was not a pretty sight. He swaps the plate for Mr. Brennan's usual coffee-walnut before he notices.   
  
It feels like déjà vu as Harry looks up at the clock above the entrance door. He couldn't sleep properly the night before after he'd called Louis at three in the morning begging him to reconsider. Of course, Louis wasn't the least bit swayed, yelling at him to grow some balls and _not to ever wake me up at this bloody hour_!   
  
Now Harry's here earlier than his scheduled shift feeling horribly anxious and lethargic and just overall terrible. It's only 8:30, but it already feels like 5 pm. Harry wants to lie on the floor and never get up. Thankfully, a few customers come in to indirectly dissuade him from the growing temptation.   
  
The clock ticks closer and closer to 9, and Harry's feeling more and more faint. Louis lets slip to the others what Harry is planning to do today and while most of them wish him good luck, a fair few had either offered a sympathetic look or hybrid smiley winces. Harry tries not to think about what that entails.   
  
He looks down at the blueberry muffin, the words " _Can I Haz your number ;D_ " in baby blue icing. Originally it had the correct spelling of 'have' and a regular closed-mouth smiley face, but Louis had felt the dire need to do some adjustments. Much to Harry's dismay, it's too late to change it when he hears the door chime, and who else but Hot Tattooed Guy comes strolling right in. Today he's clad in an all black attire, his thin henley shirt and drop crotch joggers clinging wonderfully to his wiry frame. Harry has to grip the counter in hopes of keeping himself steady. Fortunately, he'd instinctively slid the muffin out of sight just in time, too.   
  
"Could I have my usual, please." Hot Tattooed Guy mumbles rummaging through his bag.   
  
Nodding, Harry punches in his order, suddenly feeling lightheaded. He's so close, he can smell him, and oh, dear God, he smells so good. If Harry's not mistaken, HTG has on Giorgio Armani. That certain Aqua one. It's Harry's new favourite.   
  
Their eyes finally meet once he looks up to hand over the money and Harry swears it's like a thousand angels sing and a halo of light surrounds them both. Hot Tattooed Guy doesn't seem to think the same as he abruptly looks thoroughly confused.   
  
"Medium black and a cinnabon. It'll be with you in five minutes." Harry manages a smile before looking down.   
  
"Uh, yeah. Thanks."  
  
Whilst making his coffee, Harry watches him walk to his usual table, take out his things, and immediately set up his MacBook. Same old routine for him, but not for Harry. The panic starts to rise as Harry remembers what he has to do. Before he starts having a mental break down, their eyes connect again, and Hot Tattooed Guy looks even more perplexed.   
  
_This is an awful idea_ , Harry thinks in despair.   
  
"Ooh, Haz!" Amy pops out of the kitchen with a freshly made cinnabon. "Will you be telling him now?"  
  
Harry weakly nods, and she grins widely. "You got this! Go get him, tiger."  
  
How ironic. Harry needs his own motivational muffin, honestly. His eyes shift to the side door. Maybe he can make a break for it if he's really quiet. Say he's just going for a cigarette break even though he hasn't smoked a cig since he was 15 after having a chronic cough for a week.   
  
Louis glares at him as he snatches up HTG's order, eyes daring him to back out and what the consequences would be. Harry makes a face, and half-heartedly lifts up the plate with the muffin in surrender.   
  
He takes a deep breath, waiting for Louis to bring Hot Tattooed Guy his food, then starts making his way around the counter, heartbeat speeding up with every step. Harry's about a metre away from the table when he feels himself start to hyperventilate. He's got half a mind to just grab the muffin and fling it - icing first - at HTG's face when the lad himself looks up at Harry, dark eyebrows raising in question.   
  
"I'm H." Harry introduces before he can second guess himself. "Here," he says, placing the plate right next to his cinnabon.   
  
Recognition passes his face, maybe even interest, but Harry doesn't want to get ahead of himself. Hot Tattooed Guy looks down, clearly reading the muffin message, when his eyes widen into saucers. His gaze shoots right back up to Harry, and oh, no, _no_. This isn't the reaction Harry was expecting. The lad looks positively mortified. Harry wants to throw up.   
  
"I-" Harry squeaks, "I'm sorry." Ashamed, he runs to the storage room and slams the door shut, his heart heavy and throbbing against his chest. How can he possibly be feeling heartbroken when they weren't even together? What a sick joke.   
  
He stays in the same place for at least five minutes, but it feels like hours, only leaving once Hayley starts frantically exclaiming the door's jammed after futilely trying to jimmy it open. Reluctantly, he shuffles out as she glares at him, but he can only sigh in response. His eyes immediately dart to Hot Tattooed Guy, but he's gone. Louis's wiping down the next table over and senses Harry's gaze, his face pulls into a deep frown, the apology clear on his face. Harry's heart plummets to his stomach. He searches the room for any signs of HTG, but he knows that he's left the café. Finally noticing HTG's empty plate, he nearly laughs out of bitterness. Well, at least he kept the muffin.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
It's like Harry's become a zombie or, more suitably, a customer service robot. He gives the customers a smile, perfectly takes their orders, initiates just the right amount of conversation that they feel welcomed and at ease, but nothing sinks in. It's as if his brain is a cauldron of sludge and all the content he's absorbing from them is turning into mush in his mind which he regurgitates back out.   
  
It's not until Mr. Brennan ambles over to the counter does he seem to jolt into consciousness.   
  
"Harry, m'boy, how's everything going?"   
  
"Good, Mr. Brennan." Harry answers, smiling briefly before his face involuntarily drops into a frown. He automatically reaches for a cup to make Mr. Brennan's usual cappuccino when he realises he'd already made one for him today. Harry inwardly groans, his chin falling down to his chest as he briefly closes his eyes. He needs to wake up. Maybe he could ask Hayley to slap him awake, bet she'd love that.   
  
Something both wrinkled and calloused suddenly touches his forearm, and he opens his eyes to Mr. Brennan's kind smile, his missing tooth in all its gapped glory. "What's troubling you, son?"  
  
Harry must be doing a horrible job at hiding his emotions if even Mr. Brennan can figure it out.   
  
"Nothing. It's fine." If fine meant horribly disastrous, then yes, everything is just fine and dandy and oh, so peachy.   
  
"You know, son, you should always be patient." he wags a finger in Harry's face. "Patience makes the heart grow fonder."  
  
Harry suppresses a laugh. "I think you mean absence, Mr. Brennan."  
  
He rubs his chin, pursing his lips. "Oh, yes, you're right. Quite right. But, like I said, m'boy, patience is a virtue. Good things come to those who wait."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Harry chuckles, sliding him a free muffin. A muffin that would have usually been for Hottie now Mc _Nottie_. Okay, no, that's a lie. He'll always be a hottie even if he is a twat.   
  
Patting his forearm, Mr. Brennan smiles warmly. "You'll be fine, Harry. Whatever is bothering you will all work out."  
  
"How do you know?" Harry glumly replies, unable to hide the negativity now that it's been found.   
  
There's a twinkle in his eye that scares Harry a little. "I just do." Mr. Brennan gives him one last pat before putting on his brown bowling hat and waving goodbye.   
  
_I hope so_ , Harry stares after him before his gaze travels up to the clock above the entrance. _11:15_. The day isn't over just yet. Harry smiles, feeling rejuvenated all of a sudden. It ain't over until Mr. Brennan says it is.   
  


 

  
  
  
Friday comes back around and the last remaining shred of hope pops like a bubble in Harry's mind. Screw patience. It was never his forté anyway. Part of him wants to scream and cry and rage, crawling into a ball in his favourite bunny onesie, and sob into his hands. The other part wants to punch Hot Tattooed Guy in the face, punch him until he experiences the overwhelming humiliation and devastation Harry feels except in physical form. The thought consoles him a little, but just barely. He was never much of the violent type anyway.   
  
The day drags along slowly, and the usual customers come and go. Harry hates being on autopilot, always wants to engage and conversate with the usuals or any new faces, but he can't even muster that. Not today. His eyes keep shifting to the clock, groaning, sometimes aloud, most of the time inwardly, willing the hands to tick by faster so it would be six o'clock and he can go home and wallow to his heart's content.  
  
That doesn't happen, naturally, but eventually, the day turns into night, the customers trickle out, sky darkening into indigo.   
  
"'Night, Harry, sure you don't want any help?" Louis asks, and Harry just rolls his eyes.   
  
"Like you would actually stay."   
  
Louis chortles, reaching over the counter to fluff up his curls. Harry scowls, batting him away. "Too right, Harold!"   
  
Harry huffs out a laugh despite his sour mood, grabbing onto the mop from under the counter. Best to finish cleaning now since most of the chairs are already up.   
  
"He'll come 'round." Louis gently pats him on the head like an owner to his wounded pup. "There's always next week."   
  
Harry makes a face, although his heart treacherously warms at the sentiment. "Get out now before I actually force you to help."   
  
Louis gets off the counter, laughing. "Aye aye, captain!" he salutes, making his way towards the door. At the threshold, he swerves back around. "You know, Harry, the only reason why I wanted you to tell him was because I was sure he felt the same way. I don't know what's going on inside that pretty boy head of is or why he left like a proper twat, but I know he'll eventually turn up and give you an explanation. He owes you that, at the very least."  
  
Harry sighs. "If he comes back."  
  
"He will." Louis insists. He steps over to Harry, pulling him into a hug. Harry instantly sags into him like he's Atlas with the world on his shoulders. "But if he doesn't," Louis continues, "then he's a bastard who doesn't deserve you and your muffins, anyway."  
  
Harry laughs, his heart feeling a little lighter. "Seriously, you better go before I do something stupid like cry all over you."   
  
Louis makes a face before guffawing. He gives Harry another squeeze and flounces out the door.   
  
It's dead silent once he's finally gone, and Harry tries to drown out the stillness with obnoxiously loud hums. He suddenly spots a black stain on the floor, in front of the register, going over it with the mop. A few seconds later, he frowns deeply when he realises it's still there. He mops over it again, but it's being a stubborn little git, and Harry's patience is reaching critical levels.   
  
A clap of thunder makes him jump from his crouched position, and he cringes instantly feeling his back spasm. Great. Of course it would rain. Of bloody course. Of all the days he didn't bring his emergency umbrella. Harry scrapes the floor harder with the mop, the black stain stubbornly remaining intact. Cursing at it like a petulant child, Harry stamps his foot and nearly trips over, only just managing to keep himself upright. Except now he's pretty sure he's got a splinter in his right palm.   
  
The doorbell tinkles behind him, and Harry has the urge to go full toddler and scream no at the top of his lungs. Unbelievable.   
  
"Sorry, kitchen's closed for the night. Please come back tomorrow." he automatically recites to the air, returning to the task of scrubbing the stupid stain off the floor. Why the hell won't it just disappear? He wants to rip his hair out, or maybe burn the floorboards.   
  
"I'm not here for food."   
  
Harry rolls his eyes, continuing his mopping. He thinks the black's starting to fade to a light taupe, God, he hopes so. "Yeah?" he replies, acknowledging the absence of the doorbell signalling the intruder's departure. "What you here for, then?"  
  
"To give you my number."   
  
Harry actually does end up tripping over. He scrambles back up, turning towards the door to see him in all his black leather bound glory.   
  
"Hot Tattooed Guy?!" And- great. Yeah, he _did_ just say that aloud.   
  
Instead of a deeply focused, frustrated expression on his face like usual, there's a mixture of concern and slight amusement dancing in his eyes. Harry wants to dig himself a hole to China, preferably right where that stupid stain on the floor is.   
  
"Zayn, but yeah, Hot Tattooed Guy's fine as well." Oh, no, he's definitely laughing at him. Harry wishes he could melt into the ground.   
  
"I-I, um, what-?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Zayn sheepishly admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should have answered you four days ago, yeah?"   
  
Suddenly it hits Harry all over again. Right, he's mad at Hot Tatt- no, Zayn. _Zayn_. Wow. He finally knows it, but no. Harry's mad. Furious! How dare he?!  
  
"Yeah- yes!" Harry exclaims, but he sounds almost questioning.   
  
"It's my fault, sorry. I just." Zayn gestures down and Harry finally realises he's been holding an A0 sized canvas of, what, Harry's not sure since it's hidden by a black cloth. "I've been working on this."   
  
An artist. Of course he is.   
  
"But you didn't have any time at all to pop in and give me a reply?" Good. Harry can finally talk in coherent, logical sentences. He gives himself a mental high-five.   
  
Zayn flinches, looking extremely uncomfortable, and Harry resists the urge to laugh because he's mad, damn it, this is no laughing matter! "Well. Yeah, sort of. Do you know why I come here every day?"   
  
That.. was not the answer he was expecting. Harry scrunches up his face in confusion.   
  
Groaning, Zayn rubs a hand over his face. "I'm really bad at this. Ugh. Okay, I- alright. I'm an awful procrastinator, like, the absolute worst, yeah? The first day I came here all those months ago I was procrastinating."  
  
Harry still has no idea where this is going. And it's probably the weirdest, off-topic apology he's ever heard. And that's saying something.   
  
"I tried to stop, which was why I came here in the first place. Change my scenery, get inspired and all that, but then I was stuck. I've been art-blocked practically this whole semester, and my final was due June 12-"   
  
"That's today!" Harry blurts out, wincing at his own obviousness. Of course Zayn knew this. Honestly.   
  
Despite Harry's slip up, Zayn smiles in return, nodding. "Yeah, and I hadn't started. Well, I had. Plenty of times, but none of my ideas felt good enough.. until four days ago."   
  
Harry's eyes widen, cheeks heating up instantaneously.   
  
Biting his lower lip, Zayn's smile dims, a shy expression gracing his features. Harry very nearly coos. "I've submitted my final already, but I, uh, wanted you to see the raw draft."   
  
Before Harry can completely register what he's said, Zayn pulls back the black cloth, and Harry feels like he's about to go into cardiac arrest. Because there, on that huge canvas, is him, an almost exact replica, bar the fact that he looks like some kind of marvel superhero. His curls are rippling out in the wind as he stands proudly with his hands on his hips, looking off into the distance. The likeness is uncanny, and Harry can't believe this masterpiece is merely the raw draft. His narcissistic side longs to see the final.   
  
"This one's in charcoal," Zayn's smiling again, and Harry literally feels his heart skip a beat. "The final's in all kinds of colours, mostly warm tones like reds and yellows. You've got a cape on and everything."   
  
"It's beautiful." Harry breathes, drawing closer. He reaches out to trace the bridge of his nose on the canvas, his eyes bulging all of a sudden. "I mean, like, your art is so beautiful. Not that I'm saying I'm beautiful because I'm really not that pretentious, I swear. I mean, I can be, that's only when I'm having a really good hair day. Sometimes people say I'm a cross between Jagger and Jesus which I personally don't see. But what I meant to say is your art style is amaz-"   
  
Zayn cuts him off with a loud laugh rendering Harry momentarily speechless. He did that. _He_ made Zayn laugh. _Finally_.   
  
"It's alright. It's true, anyway. You are beautiful."  
  
Harry flushes, and Zayn beams almost to the point of smirking.   
  
"But yeah, I wanted you to have this because you were my muse after all, giving me free muffins and being my number one supporter."   
  
Shaking his head, Harry can only look on in disbelief as Zayn hands over the canvas. It's lighter than it looks. "I.. I don't know what to say, Zayn, thank you."   
  
Zayn blushes, pink blooming on the apples of cheeks. And, oh, yes, Harry's missed seeing those wondrous cheekbones every day. "It's no problem. I should actually be thanking you, Harry."   
  
Harry's eyes bulge out again. "You know my name?" he squeaks.   
  
Chuckling, Zayn gestures at his chest, and oh. Right. Harry wants to disappear again. As a feeble distraction he motions to the " _MM_ " on the other Harry's chest. His cool illustrated alter ego who would never in a million years be caught in an embarrassing situation like the one he's in now. "And what's that stand for?"   
  
Zayn's cheeks redden like ripe tomatoes making Harry's eyebrows rise. "Don't make me say what MM means."   
  
A slow smirk pulls at Harry's lips. "What does _MM_ mean?"   
  
Sighing, Zayn hangs his head. "Mafma."  
  
"What?" Harry holds in a laugh.   
  
He lifts his head back up, staring at Harry with pleading eyes. It doesn't work. Well, it does, but Harry doesn't get a chance to laugh it off when Zayn mumbles, "Muffin man."   
  
"Who lives on Drury Lane?" Harry laughs. It's so cheesy, and yet..  
  
Zayn bites his lip, suppressing a grin. "The final has ' _BB_ ' on your chest, though."  
  
"BB?" Harry blinks.   
  
"Banoffee Bae." Zayn beams. "With an 'e'." he winks.   
  
Harry almost chokes in disbelief. "You remembered?"   
  
Zayn laughs. "' _Four of my favourite things: banoffee pie, bananas, coffee, and puns_.'" he recalls, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as Harry's jaw drops. "Course I do, babe. I don't think you realise what actually made me keep coming to this place because it wasn't just for the cinnabons and free muffins."   
  
Harry can feel his chest start to swell up. "Me?" he offers, hopeful, eager.   
  
His favourite smile - the one with the crinkly eyes and the goofy beam - appears on Zayn's face as the lad nods in confirmation. "Yeah. I, um.. I've actually fancied you from the very first day, but you never showed any interest in me after that." Zayn starts to chuckle. "I really thought you hated me since you always hide in the back whenever I come in if you're manning the register."   
  
Harry winces. "You knew?"   
  
"I did." Zayn smirks much to Harry's dismay. "That's why I found it so hard to believe it was you giving me all the free muffins. I thought it was Hayley."   
  
Despite himself, Harry scoffs. "She would have asked you out on the first day."  
  
"And yet you seemed like the type to as well." Zayn mocks.   
  
Harry blushes. "I am! Usually.. you're just. You're-" he sighs, long and drawn out, "you're kind of out of this world, ridiculously beautiful, do you know that?"   
  
This time Zayn flushes. "Should say the same for you."   
  
Shaking his head, Harry can only silently disagree. That is beyond false.  
  
"I am really sorry, though. I just got struck by inspiration and needed to get it down before I lost my vision. I'm kind of a perfectionist." Zayn laughs. "And I really wanted you to have your own copy of my work, too, so.."   
  
"Well, you've certainly accomplished that." Harry smiles looking down at the canvas again. He still can't believe he'd inspired it's creation. Harry had been Zayn's muse. He was the reason behind the artwork. It makes his heart flutter.

Now that everything's been cleared up, Harry can't even think about how furious or upset he'd been because Zayn's here. He came back. Finally. And with a bloody customised portrait to boot. Harry's still in awe.   
  
"Can I has your number then?" Zayn teases, and _yes_ , everything was worth it. All the waiting, the fear, the doubt, the utter paranoia - if the outcome was to see that illegal smirk aimed right at him.   
  
"Only if I can has yours first." Harry counters, grinning mischievously.   
  
And the laugh that comes out of Zayn's mouth makes Harry's heart soar right out of his chest.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I swear, mate, if you don't get back behind the register, I'm going to strangle you."   
  
"I just went on break, Lou!" Harry whines, nuzzling his face into Zayn's neck as a few customers in the café laugh at the exchange. Technically, he had gone on break, like, twenty minutes ago.. it was more or less the usual crowd anyway and everyone already had their orders. Plus he can't miss any opportunity to snuggle up against Zayn while he works at their favourite spot by the windows, his tattooed arm curled around his back.   
  
Louis throws his hands up. "Just because you're Assistant Manager now doesn't mean you get to dilly dally-" he stops suddenly, glaring down at the table, "and would you stop giving your boyfriend free muffins?!"  
  
Pulling back, Harry looks at him in horror, Zayn hiding a snort behind his hand. "I've always paid for these muffins, thank you very much! And you're not even the one baking them, anyway. If anyone should be mad, it should be Amy."  
  
Louis rolls his eyes, his mouth opening to retort when the door chimes, and he ends up huffing instead. Harry tries not to laugh. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," Louis gives him a dirty look before plastering on a sunshine smile and facing the new customers.   
  
Harry guffaws unashamedly.   
  
"Harry, m'boy!"   
  
Wiping away the tears of joy, Harry grins at Mr. Brennan hobbling over to them.   
  
"Morning, Mr. Brennan, you're a little later than usual, is everything okay?"   
  
"Fine, fine." he waves him off making Harry slightly frown. "Zayn, my dear boy, thank you for the wonderful illustration. Lizzie absolutely adored it. She has it hung up on our mantelpiece."   
  
Surprised, Harry turns to Zayn who sheepishly smiles, a pink flush colouring his cheekbones. "It's no problem, Andrew. It was for your anniversary after all."   
  
Mr. Brennan laughs. "Forty years with that woman, and I don't know how I could have ever lived without her." he pauses, casting them both a meaningful look. "Now, you lads take good care of each other, eh?"   
  
Harry blushes while Zayn chuckles next to him. Pulling Harry closer, Zayn replies, "Yes, sir."   
  
They watch Mr. Brennan beam widely, the gap in his front still pronounced as ever, as he walks over to the line for the counter.   
  
"I can't believe you're both so chummy," Harry pouts. "You're even on a first name basis!"   
  
Rolling his eyes, Zayn pecks him on the nose. "Only because you're too polite to call him anything other than his surname."   
  
"Hey!" Harry protests. "Don't try to distract me with your sweet lips."   
  
"You should probably get back to work then," Zayn teases, nudging Harry in the side.   
  
Harry frowns. "Don't you want me here?" It's a bit of a stretch, but he does have his moments. Virtually every single time anyone looks over at Zayn a beat too long making Harry want to snarl and spit and hiss. Not exactly the best reaction to have since it happens every other moment. It's not his fault Zayn's so fit. It's entirely Zayn's! Or, well, Tricia and Yaser's, but no.. definitely Zayn's fault.   
  
Zayn's gaze softens, leaning forward to gently kiss his temple. "I always want you here, babe, but you're literally my worst distraction."  
  
Harry smiles wickedly, his skin tingling at the contact. He still hasn't got used to this even if it has been three months. Admittedly, it all feels like a dream. If it is a dream, embarrassingly enough, Harry never wants to wake up. "Oh, well, I have better ways to distract you." Smirking devilishly, Harry leans over, nipping at his earlobe, chuckling low and raspy just the way Zayn likes it.   
  
Pinning him with a heavy stare, Zayn sighs, shaking his head. "The worst."

**Author's Note:**

> As you may have noticed, the title is from Iain Thomas', The Point of Contact. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and please do leave feedback if you fancy! Also, apologies for any mistakes or typos.. heh.
> 
> Updated (December 2, 2015): I just realised the 'offee' in 'banoffee' is toffee, and not coffee. My bad!


End file.
